Shooty Shooty
by Hawki
Summary: Blackthorne/Crixia Oneshot: It turned out that Blackthorne wasn't the only one who intended to liberate the Androthi.


**Shooty Shooty**

It wasn't too bad fighting in mines on an alien planet, Blackthorne reflected. It certainly made a change from east Africa.

H ducked behind cover as one of the grag'ohr marched down the tunnel, firing its weapon in an intermittent, predictable pattern. In Africa, he'd fought in wide, open areas, the types of places where he could get shot from someone, from somewhere, and could die without ever knowing who that someone was. Plus, there was the caveat that said someone was human, a human that he'd have to kill if not killed himself. Likely a murderous arsehole of a human, but human all the same.

"Huh huh huh."

He popped out of cover as the grag'ohr laughed, sending projectiles into its thick hide, grinning. On Tuul, things were different. The mines were narrow, he could pick his targets, and he had plenty of cover to get behind. Plus, grag'ohr weren't human. Granted, no-one on Tuul was actually human, and he wasn't even human himself. But the Androthi were still an actual people in his eyes. _His _people. The grag'ohr…

**Boom.**

Were not.

The marine-turned-mercenary-turned saviour knelt down and scavenged the orc-like creature's body. He'd never had to do this in Africa. Fighting on Earth took places at distances, and those distances had been increasing throughout human history. On Tuul…well, on Tuul he was fighting bloody space orcs, scavenging shotgun shells that were by some miracle compatible with his own weapon, and-

"Help…"

A weapon that he tightened his grip on. And kept it tight as he got behind cover, one of the protrusions of the narrow passageway.

"Help me…"

"State your name and intention," Blackthorne called out down the passage. He kept out "rank" – no Androthi had a rank. Not unless "slave" was one.

"My name…my name…"

And Blackthorne saw the newcomer. Stumbling out of the darkness, a grag'ohr rifle trailing limply from his right hand. Androthi, he could tell that much, unless another human had made their way to Tuul, in which case Galadril had even more explaining to do. But seeing the sorry state the man was in, the blood that covered his body, he let down his guard and moved forward to catch him as he stumbled. Not rushed – he couldn't afford to rush, or let down his guard for anyone. But he had it within him to help the man to rest against the wall.

"Thank you."

And as he saw his face, stare.

The man looked just like him. He wouldn't go so far as to call him a twin, or a clone, or anything else like the kinds of stuff he used to read in _Amazing Stories_. But the similarities were still uncanny – black hair, tanned skin, a muscular build. He also noticed broken shackles on the man's wrists – he'd been a slave once, just like every other Androthi. Somehow he'd escaped. Somehow he'd managed to keep a tan and put on muscle. And-

"Oh."

Muscle that was ruptured by numerous holes. The man's body had been bloody, but only now did Blackthorne realize the truth.

"You're dying," he said bluntly.

His counterpart looked up at him. "I know," he whispered.

Blackthorne frowned, unsure how to proceed. He was good at ending the lives of the living, not bringing comfort to the dying. But keeping the frown, he decided to try.

"What's your name?"

"Cr…Crixia."

"Crixia," Blackthorne murmured. "That's…a good name." _I think._

"Thank…you…"

The man called Crixia coughed, and blood spurted out of his mouth. Most of it landing on the floor of the mines, some of it on Blackthorne's clothes. Mixing in with the blood of every grag'ohr he'd killed.

"I tried," Crixia whispered. "I really tried…tried…"

"You tried to fight." Blackthorne knelt down. The man really was dead.

"Qualia…Qualia killed me," Crixia whispered. "My slavemaster…I escaped…he found me…" He coughed again. "He shot me."

Blackthorne slowly took the grag'ohr weapon from Crixia's hands. It was warm. Especially its barrel.

"I tried," Crixia repeated, and Blackthorne could see tears mixing with the blood. "I really tried…tried…"

And he coughed. And Blackthorne sighed.

"You did good kid," he said.

Crixia sobbed. Then coughed. Then gurgled. And then slumped his head to the side. His breathing stopped. Dead.

"Really good."

Blackthorne got to his feet. 'Really good.' He had no idea if that was the case. Crixia had escaped and likely fired his weapon, but that didn't mean that he'd managed to hit anything with it. And chances were that if Crixia had escaped, this Qualia and other grag'ohr would be after him. So far, he'd kept his own presence unknown to Sarlac's thugs, least as far as he could tell. But Crixia had stirred the hornet's nest. And Blackthorne suspected that he might have to deal with it.

"Thanks for the ammo."

It wasn't exactly the last rites. But he nonetheless emptied the shells of Crixia's weapon, and added it to his own ammo store.

"Nice job."

Blackthorne pumped his shotgun and began walking. 'Nice job.'

He meant it.

* * *

><p><em>AN_

_Is it just me, or does Blizzard have a problem with releasing shooters? Yeah, _Blackthorne _was released, but on the canceled side we have _Ghost_, _Bloodlines_, and the recently canceled _Titan_. Oh, and it turns out that _Crixia _was a 2D shooter, so that's that game added to the list. Got me to write this up as a result._


End file.
